


GIFT

by kingofthegingerales



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Parentlock, Pregnancy, eventually, ftm Sherlock, meaning he has a vagina, sherlock is a transgender man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingofthegingerales/pseuds/kingofthegingerales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John decide, sort of by accident, that they want to start a family.  It's not the easiest endeavor and eventually Sherlock just wants to give up.</p><p>Set after Reichenbach but not really a reunion-centric story.</p><p>CURRENTLY ON HIATUS - JUST A FEW WEEKS NOW I PROMISE</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy. Welcome to my nifty new story. In case you didn't read the tags, this story contains a transgender character (Sherlock). It's listed as m/m because Sherlock and John are both men, regardless of their parts. It's listed as mpreg because Sherlock is a man, regardless of his parts.
> 
> I am a transgender man. Please don't tell me I know nothing of what it's like to be a transgender man. That being said, everyone's experience is unique and I'm not claiming that I know more than anyone else in this area.
> 
> This story is fiction. It is not my experience, it is not the experience of anyone I know, and is not meant to represent or generalise any group(s) of people or any individual(s).
> 
> While I've done a lot of research on infertility and treatment options to fill this up with facts, this is *fiction* and not every medical thing in this story is true, possible, or probable. It is possible for a transgender man to become pregnant after he's been on hormones, but I am not a medical professional and don't claim to have any authority on this subject. That's why this is fiction, because some of it is made up or I'm fuzzy on the actual facts.
> 
> This story also contains scenes describing miscarriage, and will probably be very emotional (if I've written it well, anyway) and may also get gritty and gory in those events and descriptions. I didn't tag this with 'graphic depictions of violence' because it isn't violent, but it will more than likely be graphic.
> 
> If you've made it through all the disclaimers and have decided to give this story a spin, I thank you and hope you enjoy it at least a little bit. I'm posting the prologue and first chapter simultaneously. Not sure how long the story will end up being.

Sherlock waited for John to say something. Anyhing. Anything at all would be better than the silence. They stood just a foot apart, staring at each other without blinking. For how long? Couldn't have been more than two minutes, but it felt like it dragged on for days.

John's fist connected with Sherlock's nose in the blink of an eye, though, knocking him backwords onto the floor.

“I expected violence,” Sherlock said, realising he would have to be the first to speak if they were to have a conversation any time soon. “But a simple punch is a bit dull, John. I've come to expect more from you.” He let his head roll back onto the floor, fighting off the temporary dizziness.

“Have you?”

“Mm.” Sherlock lifted a finger to the base of his nose to confirm it was bleeding pretty steadily.

John knelt down beside him and sat him up, propping him against Mycroft's desk for support.

Sherlock searched his eyes, hoping they would reveal exactly what was going through his mind, failing to notice as they came closer. Until he felt a pair of lips against his. He felt two fingers on his chin, gently supporting him.

It was impossible not to taste the blood once they opened their mouths to deepen the kiss, and though John wasn't bothered by it, he did pull away. “Does it hurt?”

“Is it usually painful for someone when you kiss them?”

“I mean your nose.”

“It's fine.”

John ignored Sherlock's lie and began feeling out the damage he'd done. It wasn't a particularly powerful punch, so Sherlock had to have been at least a bit surprised to fall down like that. “It's not broken,” he finally decided, “but it will bruise some.”

Sherlock shrugged.

“We should talk about it,” John suggested, standing as his knees began to hurt from kneeking. He extended a hand to Sherlock and helped him stand as well.

“I did it to save you—”

“No, not that. I know all that. Mycroft told me.”

“And you're not angry.”

John chuckled. “Oh, I'm furious. And I will be for a while, but that doesn't mean I'm not happy as hell to see you standing there. No, I mean we should probably talk about the fact that we're in love with each other. I thought I'd never have the chance to tell you properly, and now that I do I'm not wasting it.”

“What makes you think I return your feelings?”

“The fact that you're scared.”

Sherlock raised a brow. “Scared?”

“Yeah. You've been shaking since Mycroft walked me into the room. It could just be fear that we'd never get our friendship back exactly the way it was, but, when I kissed you, you stopped shaking for a moment.”

“Anything else?”

“You're standing really close to me?”

“I always stand close to you.”

“You do. Because I'm John Watson, the person you're in love with.”

Sherlock smirked. “You are good. Just one small problem.”

“And that is?”

“You're not gay.”

“I'm not anything.”

“The whole two years we lived together, you told people you weren't gay. It wound down a bit near the end there, but didn't stop completey.”

John sighed. “After seeing what my sister went through, I didn't want to risk... but it's not a risk I'm afraid of anymore.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Because there's more to it than just me being a man.”

John blinked. “You think I never figured it out? Sherlock, I have seen you naked, remember? We shared a bathroom for two years, I saw the bottles of testosterone in the medicine cabinet. I'm not an idiot.”

“You never said anything.”

“Because it was none of my business. I would have talked to you if you ever brought it up, but it wasn't...”

“And it doesn't bother you?”

“No, of course not. It obviously didn't bother me before, why would it now, all of a sudden?”

“You did just declare your love for me.”

“And you for me, more or less.”

“So what do we do now?”

“Not sure. Can't say I've ever been in this situation before.”

“Neither have I,” Sherlock admitted with a little laugh.

John tapped a finger to his chin, thinking. “I'd like you to come back to baker street. I haven't forgiven you, but I will, eventually, and the only way things are going to get easier between us is if we're communicating.”

“That, and you'd like to lock me up for a while to make sure I don't run off again.”

“Problem?”

“None at all.”


	2. Chapter One.

_One Year Later._

Sherlock woke with a headache, as he usually did when he slept too much. Even now, he hated to sleep. God, it was boring, and pointless. John had managed to convince him to sleep every other night, for four hours minimum. Neither brought up the fact that he usually did six.

He rolled over and found he was alone. Not unusual, but not really usual. It meant he'd slept at least seven hours, and John had woken before him. So he stood, pulling on his dressing gown, and walked to the kitchen.

“Morning,” John said, handing him a mug of tea. “Enjoy your sleep?”

Sherlock grunted, but sipped the tea to rid himself of sleepy-mouth.

John laughed at him. “Have you got a headache?” He knew he wouldn't get a response to his teasing, so he just picked up the bottle of paracetamol, shaking a couple of pills into his hand.

Sherlock took them, but refused the toast he was offered next.

“Right, I'm off.”

“John, you have to give me my shot before you go to work.”

John rolled his eyes. “I don't understand how you managed to stick yourself for years, even after we moved in together. But as soon as we become a couple, I have to be the one to stick the needle in your arse.”

“Oh, you enjoy it.”

“Why do you do the shots, anyway? You can get tablets now.”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“Nope.”

Sherlock stayed quiet for a minute, not wanting to explain unless he knew John wouldn't get upset. “I've been known to prefer injections,” he said, not taking his eyes off him.

“...Ah. Well, that answers that, then.”

“Aren't you upset?”

John shook his head, frowning with a bit of confusion. “Why would I be? You've been sober for a long time, momentary lapse in your time away notwithstanding. But that was one time, and you've done really well since. I'm not worried about it.”

“At all?”

“Well, maybe a bit. But it's so small that it barely even registers. I mostly worry that someone will try and tempt you with it, but I trust you. You've always come to me when you feared a relapse, so I trust you always will. Come on, let's go poke your butt. I don't want to be late.”

Sherlock followed John to the bathroom and watched him ready the syringe. “Aw, and here I thought you were going to seduce me.”

“Maybe later tonight,” John answered with a wink. “It is the anniversary of your return, after all.” He yanked the waistband of Sherlock's pyjamas down just enough to expose some of his left butt cheek, and injected the hormones into him.

Sherlock groaned. “I thought you'd forgotten,” he said as they left the bathroom. He followed John to the door of the flat.

“Don't act like you don't want to celebrate with me. I'm only working a half-day, so we can spend the afternoon together.”

“I've got the Olkis case.”

“I know, and you'll have it solved by the time I clock off. Come here.” John put his hands on Sherlock's waist, giving him a small smile before kissing him. Sherlock's hands cupped his face, moving his lips and tongue in all the ways that drove John mad. “I'll see you after work. Get me if there's an emergency.”

Sherlock mentally cheered. At least John appeared to have forgotten about the banquet Mycroft insisted on having.

John's voice floated up the stairs just before he stepped out the front door. “And we're going to the party.”

“Damn.”

 

* * *

 

“I don't see what the point is,” Sherlock groaned as he stood beside John. The hall was full of people he'd never met—or he'd deleted them—and Mycroft's speech had ended up being more political than celebratory anyway.

John sipped from the long-stemmed drink he held in his hand. “It's for people to show how glad they are that you're not actually dead.”

“But why. All the people I care about have already told me their... _feelings_. Is this really necessary?”

“Just a bit longer. Then we can sneak out.”

Sherlock's lips curled into a closed-mouth smile. “Good.”

“You'll be dealing with Mycroft's whining, though.”

 

* * *

 

John entered 221, leaning on Sherlock for support. “Why did I let you convince me to climb through that window?”

“Because you wanted to leave just as badly as I did,” Sherlock offered. “Can you get the stairs, or should I carry you?”

“It's only a twisted ankle; I can walk. Just don't let go of me.”

“Never.”

John smirked as they made it to the top. “And you say you aren't romantic.” Sherlock helped him to the sofa, then stood in front of him, thinking of what to do next. John's phone chimed. “It's a text from Mycroft. He says 'answer your phone.'”

“Tell him to piss off.”

“What were you two arguing about while I was talking to Greg?”

Sherlock scoffed. “He is obsessed with having someone to carry on our line. If he wants an heir so much, why doesn't _he_ go make one?” He plopped down next to John. “I'll do it on my own time.”

“What?” John asked, catching up. “You mean kids?”

“Obviously.”

“I didn't know you wanted children.”

Sherlock frowned at him. “Why wouldn't I?”

“Because you hate people. Especially your family.”

“I wouldn't hate my own children. Whether I gave birth or we had to adopt, it wouldn't matter.”

John gaped. “Gave birth? You want... to get pregnant?”

Sherlock went a bit stiff. “Does that bother you?”

“No. I just had no idea you'd considered it.”

“I've always wanted to. That's why I never had the organs taken out, just in case. It could take a while, might even be impossible, which is why we might have to consider adoption, but we could try.”

“You'd have to go off the hormones.”

“I know.”

John rubbed his nose. “And no smoking. I don't just mean if you do get pregnant, I mean none at all as soon as we start trying.”

“Yes, I know, John.”

“You'd need to eat more. Eat healthier. Put on some weight, first. Get into a more regular sleep cycle.”

“ _Yes_ , John. I've thought about everything.”

“Of course you have.”

“Are you upset?”

“No, I'm not,” John said in a low voice. “Kind of... excited? I didn't know you wanted this. I assumed we'd talk about kids eventually but I wasn't sure what you'd say.”

“So... you want to?”

“Want to what?”

“Try to get me pregnant.”

John bit his lip. “Why don't you finish off the stock of hormones you have, and we'll talk about it more before we decide right away. We need to be prepared for this, Sherlock, we can't just jump right in and have a baby.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, then,” John huffed, feeling like he'd just run a marathon. He wasn't sure what was going to happen now, didn't know exactly how they'd have to prepare. But they would do it together, and that gave him hope that they would eventually find their way.


	3. Chapter Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the story is actually already written, so updates should be fairly quick. Chapters are somewhat short, but thats just how the breaks needed to fall, so I'm sorry if that bothers some of you.
> 
> I do have a tumblr where I'll post updates about this and future fics, in case anyone is interested. The url is kingofthegingerales just like my name here.

Sherlock woke with a strange feeling. A tight pain in his lower gut that seemed familiar but out of place at the same time. When he sat up, he felt something warm dribbling from between his legs. He hurried to the bathroom, knowing what had happened.

Pulling his pyjamas down confirmed it. He'd begun menstruating again. The endocrinologist had said it could take months, possibly a year or even longer, for his natural hormones to recalibrate themselves and get his cycle started. But it had only taken two. Though he had gained some weight already, so that probably helped it along.

He was happy, of course, because bleeding meant he was not only ovulating again, but also building up the blood necessary to support a pregnancy. It would take a while before his body got in the habit of building up enough, but this was a start.

What made him unhappy was the actual shedding of the blood. It was uncomfortable, and no doubt the cramps would be getting worse.

“John,” he called, going back to the bedroom where his partner was still asleep. It was too dark to be morning, and he didn't want to wake him, but he needed to. “John,” he sad again, tapping his shoulder.

John rolled onto his back. “What, Sherlock?” He asked, keeping his eyes closed.

“I need you to go out and get something for me.”

“It's the middle of the night. You're supposed to be sleeping, not experimenting.”

“It's not for an experiment. I'd go myself, but that could be... problematic.”

“How?”

“I could leak.”

John opened his eyes and gave him a confused look. “What?”

“Menstrual blood, John. I need you to get me tampons. Preferably before I ruin my pyjamas.”

“Oh,” John said. “You've started already?”

Sherlock nodded.

John sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Right. Well, that's good, right?”

“Very good.” Sherlock gave a little smile.

“Right,” John said again. “I'll pop out and get that for you. Anything else you need, since I'm going out?”

“Hm. Do they sell cardice at Tesco?”

“Hah, no. And even if they did, I am not buying you cardice at two in the morning.”

Sherlock shrugged. “It was worth a try.”

 

* * *

 

John returned about half an hour later with Sherlock's tampons and a few other things. He unloaded the bags on the kitchen table, handing Sherlock the box of Tampax.

Sherlock looked at the other things. Some biscuits, fruits, cereal. And... “You bought pregnancy tests.”

“I know we won't need them for a while,” John said, feeling a bit foolish. “But you've already started menstruating again. It may not be as long of a wait as we thought.”

“Maybe.”

“You going back to sleep?”

“No. I'm already awake, I'm not tired.”

John smirked. “I can fix that.”

“No, definitely not,” Sherlock said with a slight scowl.

“Why not?”

“Won't you be a bit... disgusted? You'd get all bloody.”

“I'm a doctor, Sherlock, remember? Blood doesn't disgust me. And you haven't got any diseases, so it doesn't worry me.”

Sherlock squinted his eyes a bit. “It could ruin the sheets.”

“We've got other sheets.” He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist. He kissed his chin, making his way up to those beautiful lips. “I love you.”

“I know.”

He rested his forehead against Sherlock's. “And I know how hard this is going to be for you. How difficult it must already be. I mean, I don't know from experience but I can see it on your face, you know. And I want you to know that you can talk to me about things.”

“I do know.”

“Good. Because this isn't something people know a lot about. Male pregnancy isn't very widely researched, because it isn't widely done. And you've been on those hormones for years and already we can see how much your body is changing without them... and I know you're uncomfortable.”

“I'll live through the discomfort, John. I want this. I wouldn't be doing it if I didn't think I could handle it. There are things I can do to keep myself from changing too much. Some change is inevitable, but it'll be temporary and worth it.”

“Alright.”

“Now, you mentioned something about tiring me out?”

 

* * *

 

John came home from work to find the kitchen table covered in Sherlock's science equipment. Sherlock sat, alternating between peering into the microscope and holding tubes of murky liquids up to the light.

“I thought we agreed not to do experiments in the kitchen.”

Sherlock glanced up from his work. “Did we?”

John nodded. “No chemicals, toxins, or poisons around food.”

“Oh. Well I'm not working with anything harmful.”

“Really? It's not going to blow up?”

“That was one time.”

John laughed, giving him a small kiss on the cheek. “Seriously, what are you up to?”

“I'm testing the breakdown speeds of the nutrients in different brands of formula.”

“Formula?”

“Infant formula, John,” Sherlock said as he pointed to the containers setting around the table. “I won't be able to breastfeed, and the easier a formula is to digest, the better it is for a baby.”

“I see.”

Sherlock finally pulled himself away from his microscope, looking up at John, lips held toghtly together in an almost-frown. “I'm not pregnant yet.”

“The doctors said it would take time.”

“It's been six months since my cycle has started up. I know it's not really regular, but it's easy enough to estimate when I'm ovulating. I should be pregnant by now.”

John sighed. “Well, by medical standards we shouldn't be concerned with infertility until we've been unsuccessful for twelve months.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Do you really want to wait that long?”

“No,” John admitted. He really didn't. “But that's what any doctor is going to tell us. They won't really be concerned until we've tried for a year.”

“Are you concerned?”

“Not really. If there is a problem, there are ways around them. And it might not be you, it could be me.”

Sherlock waved a hand through the air. “No, your sperm count is perfectly adequate.”

“I don't want to know how you know that.” John turned and started to make some tea. Truthfully he was just as eager for a baby as Sherlock was. After thinking about it for so long, he really didn't want to have to wait any longer than the standard forty weeks.

“I think we need to start talking to a fertility specialist now. Earlier intervention.”

“Can you wait one more month? Maybe we'll get lucky. And it'll take time to get an appointment.”

Sherlock stared him down, but deep down he knew John was right. Any doctor would strongly recommend they wait the full year before looking into infertility treatments. “One month.”

“Thank you.”

Sherlock didn't say anything as he looked back into his microscope.


	4. Chapter Three.

“I told them your sperm count was fine,” Sherlock groaned. “That was a waste of time. We should have started with this.”

John agreed; it was a waste of a week. He knew Sherlock was probably right, however he'd come to the conclusion, but he'd gone along with it just to make sure. “It's the easiest thing to rule out.”

“Yes, and I already ruled it out.” They were back at the fertility clinic, waiting to find out the results of the tests they'd performed on Sherlock after they'd done John.

“Sherlock.”

“Hm?”

John put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and spoke softly. “Try to stay calm, okay? They're just doing their jobs. They're professionals, and things will go a lot smoother if we at least listen to them.”

At that moment, the doctor returned. He gave them a professional grin, which John returned. Sherlock kept his normal face on, waiting to hear whatever news the doctor brought. He normally didn't like doctors very much—excepting John, of course—but he was here for a reason. He needed to know if it was even possible for him to conceive.

“Gentlemen,” the doctor said, taking a seat. Sherlock was sat atop the patient table with John standing next to him. “I've got good news. Mr. Holmes, you are building up enough uterine lining, and your ova are perfectly viable.”

Sherlock didn't say anything, waiting for more, but John smiled a bit. “That is good news.”

The doctor nodded. “We think the problem may be your body's natural hormone levels. Since you've gone off the testosterone, your progesterone levels are extremely high. This would be good, if you were already pregnant. But it can be a problem while trying to conceive because it thickens the cervical mucus, makes it harder for sperm to get up to the fallopian tubes.”

“What can we do about it?” Sherlock asked. He knew already, having come across the problem in his research. It was fairly common, but one of the more difficult things to overcome.

“It's pretty simple, actually,” the doctor began, noticing the calculating look on his patients' faces. “We can prescribe you some hormone suppressants to try and knock the P levels down. The trick is to know when to go off them, because once you are pregnant, you need progesterone to sustain it.”

Sherlock did some quick charting in his head. “If I take them during the days just before I expect to ovulate, and then stop just after, it could work.”

“It could take a couple tries, but yes, that's the best way to go about it,” the doctor said.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock inspected the small tablets. It was three days before he would ovulate, and time to take the first dose of the suppressors.

He swallowed the pills, grateful for a mostly easy fix. He'd guessed it would all come down to hormones, but there were so many possibilities it was impossible for him to narrow it down. But knowing it was something as small as the state of his own lubrication gave him a bit more confidence.

 

* * *

 

John had started to take off from work when Sherlock was supposed to be ovulating.

Sherlock insisted that it wasn't necessary; sperm could live a very long time once inside him so having sex the night before would have worked just as well.

But that doesn't mean he wasn't happy to have John home with him.

“How can you possibly have that much stamina?” John asked, panting.

Sherlock smirked. “I can go for days, John, you know that. You're the one with the tedious refractory period.”

“Stopping T was supposed to _decrease_ your libido.”

“I'm extremely motivated.”

John huffed, still catching his breath. “I'm really glad you're so focused on this. I thought you might lose interest.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don't know. Sometimes you say you want things, and then change your mind.”

“Have you been worried about that?”

“A little,” John admitted. “But I knew this was a bigger decision than repapering the walls, you wouldn't make it lightly. And it's all you've been thinking about. That case last week took you two days longer than it normally would have.”

“It wasn't a very interesting case. How long until you're ready to go again?”

John shook his head. “Give me half an hour.”

 

* * *

 

Sherlock sat on the toilet, wishing the ten minutes would hurry up and be over. He'd waited two weeks since from the time he was supposed to have bled, so the home pregnancy test would be most accurate. It was the first urination of the morning, so if it came out negative it was most likely not a false reading.

When the timer went off, he grabbed the stick off the sink and ran out to the kitchen.

“John!”

“Wha—” he didn't have time to answer before Sherlock's lips were on his. He could tell Sherlock hadn't brushed his teeth yet, but he was a bit distracted by the tongue in his mouth. “Well, good morning to you too,” he said, surprised at the enthusiasm. Morning snogs weren't really their thing, but he didn't mind a little surprise here and there. “What's got you so excited?”

Sherlock pressed the test into John's palm.

John looked down to find out what Sherlock had given him. “Oh my god.” He looked back up at Sherlock, who was biting his bottom lip in anticipation. “We did it.”

“Yes we did.”

“You're pregnant.”

“I am.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yes, you said that already.”

“It only took one try with the suppressors.”

“Are you happy?” Sherlock asked, needing the direct confirmation.

“Are you an idiot? Of course I'm bloody happy. We're having a baby.”

Sherlock finally smiled his more natural smile as John hugged him. “I'm happy too.”

“We should celebrate. Do you want to go out for dinner tonight? We haven't been to Angelo's in a while.”

“Sure,” Sherlock said with a nod.

“Good. I'll make you an appointment with the obstetrician, okay?”

Sherlock's mood fell a bit. “Do we have to?”

“Yes, we do. We need to make sure it develops healthily. We are not taking any chances.”


	5. Chapter Four.

“I want to go somewhere,” Sherlock said. He and John were in the cab, on their way to their first prenatal appointment.

“We're going somewhere right now.”

“I don't mean now. I mean later, once I start to show. I think we should go away for a bit.”

“Alright,” John agreed. “Why?”

“Mostly because it'll be the last few months of just us. We'll want to use that time wisely.”

“And the other bit?”

Sherlock hesitated. It sounded vain, and he knew he was prone to a bit of vanity, but that didn't make it less valid. “I don't want people to see me. You can see me, obviously, because I love you. And it'll be our baby. But I don't want anyone else to see.” He'd thought about it soon after he and John had decided to try. It wasn't anyone else's business to see him swollen and puffy. He could tolerate John—more than tolerate, actually; he wanted to share that experience with him—but it wasn't for anyone else's eyes.

John stared at him.

“What?” Sherlock asked.

“You said you love me.”

“I do.”

“You've never said it before.”

Sherlock blinked, eyes moving at super speed as he ran through the index of all his memories of his life with John. “I haven't?”

“Not so directly, no. I mean I never doubted it, but...” John's voice tapered off, not sure where he was going. He _hadn't_ doubted it, not once, since they'd gotten together. Sherlock never denied it, or scoffed when John said it to him. In fact he usually responded rather passionately, or as passionately as Sherlock could manage, that is.

They spent the rest of the ride in silence. Sherlock considered telling him again, but didn't want to cause doubt through overkill. He did, however, reach out and take John's hand. That's how he usually said it, after all.

 

* * *

 

The blood test took just under fifteen minutes. It didn't feel like as long a wait as for the urine test, because they already knew the outcome. Now they were just awaiting confirmation so they could begin prenatal care.

The doctor came in with a file in her hand. She took a seat before finally looking at him. She took a deep breath, then opened the file. “Your HCG levels are very low. It's just residual, being filtered out of your system.”

“I'm... not pregnant.” Sherlock left the afterthought hanging in the air, a silent fact that everyone in the room knew to be true.

“No,” she confirmed. “You were, though.”

Sherlock looked down, and felt a hand on his shoulder.

The doctor continued. “You probably already know, HCG is only present during pregnancy, so its presence—”

“I know what it means,” Sherlock interrupted. “I've miscarried.”

“Yes,” she said. “I know it's a hard thing to go through, but most people experience miscarriages without even knowing they were pregnant in the first place. It is upsetting, but it's no cause for worry at this stage. Like I said, it happens to a lot of people, and it rarely means anything about future pregnancies. You are extremely healthy, your body has adjusted well to the lack of testosterone, and if you keep up with the progesterone suppressors, you should have little trouble conceiving again.”

“How long should we wait before trying again?” John asked.

“Typically one cycle is what we recommend. In a day or so you should experience what appears to be normal menstruation, if a little heavier or clotty, and after the cycle that comes after that you'll be fit to try again. If the bleeding you experience in the next few days lasts longer than your normal period of time, or if you feel like you have an extremely upset stomach, you should come back so we can clean you up and make sure you don't have an infection.”

Sherlock didn't say anything, so John spoke. “Okay. Thanks. We'll, er, we'll let you know what happens.”

The doctor nodded before leaving the room.

Sherlock still didn't move or say anything.

“Are you alright?” John asked in a quiet voice.

“I miscarried.”

“It happens to lots of people, Sherlock.”

“I know that,” Sherlock argued, not looking up from the floor. “I just...”

“I know.” John pulled him into a loose hug, felt Sherlock's head resting on his shoulder. “But we can try again. We'll get it, I know we will.”

 

* * *

 

“Lift your feet up,” John requested. Sherlock was stretched out on the sofa, but lifted his legs so John could sit. Once Sherlock's feet were in his lap, he began massaging them.

Sherlock peered over the book he'd been reading. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you a footrub?”

“Why?”

“Because I can.”

“Oh, you're still worried. John, I'm fine.”

John didn't stop rubbing even though he'd been found out. “Can you blame me for worrying? You barely spoke for two days after... and you haven't taken any cases in the past two weeks. I just need to make sure you're alright.”

“I'm fine, I promise. I'm just resting my body a bit.”

“Okay.” John stretched his body out so he and Sherlock were both laying on the sofa. It wasn't really built for that sort of position, but it gave him an excuse to hold Sherlock extra tight. “I like this.”

“Hm?”

“Cuddling? With all the sex we've been having, we haven't just... done this in a while.”

“We never did it that often to begin with,” Sherlock pointed out.

John kissed the back of Sherlock's neck. “Maybe we should start. I like when we're close like this.”

Sherlock waited a few seconds before saying, “So do I.”

“Well, that's settled then. Shall we sleep for a bit?”

“You can sleep. I'll continue reading.”

“Alright. You have fun.” John shifted a bit, pulling Sherlock even closer. He loved the way they fit together. They were both sort of awkwardly shaped, him being soft and curvy and Sherlock hard and angular. But they just came together, interlocking like a unique two-piece puzzle. Although hopefully it would soon become a three-piecer.


End file.
